


To speak of eternity

by rillaelilz



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 08:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15239862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillaelilz/pseuds/rillaelilz
Summary: But they were never poor, Kili forgets. Now that they are slaves, bound to sword and spear and shield, and before, when their life was among simple goatherds and rough-handed farmers, they never had less than each other.





	To speak of eternity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlmarvel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlmarvel/gifts).



> Written for today's Fikiweek prompt: ~~strangers~~ or brothers.
> 
> This one is for the bro, because she's amazing, and whether she's had a good or a bad day, she _always_ deserves nice things - so I try. I hope this is okay, beeb  <3

 

 

_Millions and millions of years_  
_Would not suffice_  
_To speak of_  
_The little second of eternity_  
_When you kissed me_  
_When I kissed you_

(Jacques Prévert, The garden)

 

 

 

If there’s one thing Kili will never get enough of, it’s the nights. The sweet delusion of respite that comes with the darkness; a realm made for quiet sleep and whispering shadows.

The world has no care for men like them at night; now,  _the world_  narrows down to the cool touch of the floor under his bare feet, the soft sound of Fili’s breaths, and the muffled rustling of the pallet as Kili slips in next to his brother, all long limbs and warmth.

Fili’s body curls into his the minute they’re touching, the ready answer to a familiar question. His fingers unfurl against Kili’s chest, spreading across his tanned skin at their leisure, the way Kili imagines a man would walk into his house, sit back in his chair and bask in the coziness of his hearth.

It’s heady, the ease with which they’ll reach out like this. The freedom to act upon one’s wishes; to want, and to take, with no need for any sort of permission other than the other’s gaze saying,  _this is okay. This you can have_.

They defy their masters with simple touches and moments stolen in the dark, he and Fili. Two slaves, claiming for themselves the luxury of skin-on-skin granted to all free men, and the sweetness of mingled breaths which even commoners know.

Every kiss between them is a conscious choice, every embrace an act of rebellion - illicit, untamed and just,  _just_  right.

Fili’s hands defy the very laws of Rome just by laying on Kili; but they have built a home for themselves on Kili’s skin. The curling tracks of his fingers around Kili’s hips, the warm impression of them on Kili’s belly, the grazed paths of fingernails across Kili’s thighs; his fingerprints are everywhere.

Fili looks up at him through thick eyelashes, soft and sleep-mussed, and if Kili were a stronger man, perhaps he wouldn’t feel himself tremble.

One day, Kili knows - when he dies, they’ll carve his heart out to weigh against the gods’ mercy, and they’ll find on it the creases of Fili’s palm.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Fili whispers, raking gentle fingertips through Kili’s chest hair.

Kili beams. “Why sleep when I can look at you instead?”

Fili draws a sigh; it ghosts over Kili’s lips and chin like a kiss.

“You’ll be looking at me differently when you’re too tired to fight in the morning,” he chides, fingers tracing the vee of Kili’s breastbone, up and down, up and down, soothing. Kili catches them, bringing them to his mouth to lay feathery kisses on each wrinkly joint and knuckle, one by one.

“The sight of you would give me all the strength I needed,” Kili winks. Fili laughs quietly, ducking his head to hide his face against his brother’s neck, his body shaking in Kili’s arms.

Kili tugs him closer, relishing the soft rumbling of Fili’s chest against his own, vibration after rippling vibration.

When Fili pulls back, his eyes are shining with mirth.

“These Romans and their mellow ways - they’re rubbing off on you, Kee,” he says, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Next thing I know, you’ll be singing verses from their poems and moaning woefully for your audience like their bards do.”

Kili smirks then, the bow of his mouth so much like a cat’s, some might wonder where he left his whiskers.

“I only moan for one man, and never woefully,” he teases, and elicits another snort of laughter from his brother.

“Gods, you’re awful,” Fili groans, and Kili can’t help but chuckle, the sound low and rich, roused from deep within his chest.

“I’m just trying to reassure you,” he says, slinging his leg over Fili’s to pull him just that bit further into his space, humming as the warmth of Fili’s hip slots against his bare thigh. “Our next fight is only in two weeks’ time, which gives me leave to look at you all night, if I so wish.”

“There’s still training tomorrow,” Fili reminds him, curling his fingers over the strong curve of Kili’s shoulder. His thumb draws lazy shapes over the clavicle, patterns that Kili tries to guess; little circles, sinous eight-like silhouettes, perfect bows that stretch across his collarbone.

“There’s training, yes,” Kili concedes, leaning in to place a quick kiss on the tip of Fili’s nose, “and I would have you watch me.” He grins, mischief blending with the tiniest hint of desire. “I would try to impress you, make you long for me - until you’re burning with it.”

Fili tips his head back to lock their gazes, the soft gleam of a pink tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“I always watch you, Kili.”

Moonlight paints flecks of silver in the blue of his eyes, and the emotion Kili can see there– it’s something thicker, deeper, greater than the night sky. Any man would drown in it. Any man other than Kili wouldn’t know to look for hidden words there, the code too old, too intimate to crack their meaning.

“When you spar, when you fight, when you go down and pick yourself right back up - I can never take my eyes off of you.”

It strikes Kili - sweeter than a blow, and yet just as powerful, a grip clenched tightly around his heart. Fili looks at him the way wolves look at the moon and feel the howl build up in their throat - like he’s a need that lives in Fili’s blood, a pull born in the depths of him, and Kili wants nothing more than to wrap himself around Fili’s body as snugly as he can, tug him close until their skin becomes one and their bones clink together and mingle.

“Every time,” Fili says, his tone hushed and his eyes bright, “every time I think to myself, There is my love, and he stands proud and outshines the sun.”

He twines nimble fingers with the hair at Kili’s nape, and gods, but his voice is the golden touch of honey and the sturdy, unshakable ground of certainty, and  _this_  is the reason, isn’t it - the reason why the arena thunders with calls of  _Leo_ when Fili steps on the sanded grounds; not the burnished gold of his mane, but the fierce look in his eyes, the one that makes his enemies waver like green stalks in the wind.

“There is my love, I tell myself,” he says, gaze brimming with the purest adoration, “and he conquers, and he lives to come back to me once more.”

Kili has never thought himself deserving of such faith -  _Fili, it was always Fili in his mind, bronze skin and heart of gold_  - but if this is a gift laid at his feet, he can do nothing but gather it in his arms and kiss Fili with all the love, all the passion he is capable of, and praise the gods with a thankful heart.

Fili’s lips taste familiar on his tongue; his breath as sweet-hot as Kili’s own blood. When Fili cups Kili’s jaw in his palm, when their bodies shift and curve and give to fit against each other, Fili sighs into the kiss, and Kili chases his mouth again - again, again, again, because  _enough_  never existed between them.

Love surges from within Kili, burning pathways in his veins, all scorching flames licking at his lungs, at his tongue and teeth, at the flitting muscles in his arms.

It’s the primal need to keep Fili safe, to breathe him in, to wear the sounds of him like a second skin, pulsing inside of him with the pounding of his heart.

They part, and still they only go far enough to look in each other’s eyes; the ghost of their kisses still heavy and tangible on their lips.

“We’ll be free,” Kili promises, in the breathless way of lovers, “soon, soon we’ll be free, I’ll make it so, I swear–”

Fili steals one more kiss from him, soft against the sting of swollen lips, and Kili holds him close, one hand splayed over the small of Fili’s back and the other perched under his chin, to tilt his head and taste him as fully as he can.

One day, if the gods grant him enough luck, he’ll win back their freedom and they’ll roam the empire and beyond as new men. They’ll go north, where pine and fir-tree fill the air with their cool scent and the lands are good for pasture; or south, where the coast is all steep hills and olive trees and the sea sparkles in light blues and greens against the gold-brown sand.

They’ll settle down somewhere and work hard, and maybe they’ll save up enough to buy a horse, and Kili will carve his own bow and let Fili craft the fletchings for him, like he did the first time Kili was allowed a weapon of his own.

“I love you,” Fili murmurs against his brother’s mouth, his voice so tight it might break apart. Kili presses their cheeks together, overwhelmed.  _I would give you the world_ , he doesn’t say, but he cradles Fili closer; feels their hearts beat in a frantic rhythm, Fili’s fluttering like young wings between their chests, alive– so alive it humbles Kili into silence.

Even here, even for a few moments, life thrives. Even in the poorest man’s arms you may find boundless riches.

“I love you.”

But they were never  _poor_ , Kili forgets. Now that they are slaves, bound to sword and spear and shield, and before, when their life was among simple goatherds and rough-handed farmers, they never had less than each other.

 

 


End file.
